{"id":37,"date":"2010-02-15T09:15:00","date_gmt":"2010-02-15T09:15:00","guid":{"rendered":"http:\/\/www.katebailward.com\/drivinglikeamaniac\/?p=37"},"modified":"2011-04-01T12:40:46","modified_gmt":"2011-04-01T10:40:46","slug":"time-for-bed-said-zebedee","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/www.katebailward.com\/drivinglikeamaniac\/2010\/02\/time-for-bed-said-zebedee\/","title":{"rendered":"‘Time for bed,’ said Zebedee"},"content":{"rendered":"

(image by <\/em>ilmungo<\/em><\/a> on Flickr)<\/em><\/span>
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\n\"\"<\/a>Friday night was almost like being back in the UK: getting drunk, staying up until 7am and eating kebabs. \u00a0In a twist to the story, however, the kebabs were the first thing on the menu for the evening. \u00a0Before you call the local lunatic asylum to come and collect me, they’re not all that similar to the UK version. \u00a0Yes, they are cooked in the same way, but they are actually edible when sober. \u00a0Much though I love UK kebabs, I don’t think I have ever, nor would ever want to, eat one when I was anything less than three sheets to the wind. \u00a0Here, however, the meat still looks like and has the texture of meat, and is served on a plate, rather than in a pitta. \u00a0In Italian fashion, the custom is then to have a side order of vegetables, again served on a plate. \u00a0There is fresh bread on the side, and (for us, anyway), a half-litre jug of chilled, slightly fizzy, red wine. \u00a0Yum.<\/span>
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\nThe restaurant that we go to is one that Alex knows well. \u00a0On entering, we are immediately fixed with a beady stare by ‘la nonna’. \u00a0She is always to be found sitting at the biggest table in the restaurant, watching the Italian version of ‘Deal or No Deal’ while keeping tabs on everyone who comes in. \u00a0On Friday, buona sera<\/em>-ing\u00a0over with and politeness satisfied, we were free to take our pick of tables, as we were the first people in. \u00a0This gave us plenty of opportunity to gaze at the decor, which is a thing of wonder. \u00a0The lights look a little like 1980s-styled snowshoes, folded up flat against the wall or arranged in a circular fan shape on the ceiling. \u00a0The choice of table is always a big decision, as neither of us wants to be sat beneath one of them, in case they fall down from the wall and hit us on the head. \u00a0Not that I think it’s actually likely, but who wants to take that chance? \u00a0There are posters and pictures from all around the world on the walls, advertising Guinness, German sausages and beach huts in Scandinavia. \u00a0The owner seems to be a well-travelled man, and certainly always has plenty of banter to offer. \u00a0I start the evening keeping up, but don’t do so well by the time we leave, when I am full of gyros and red wine, topped off with amaro. \u00a0This may or may not be a good thing \u2013 I definitely hear my name mentioned a couple of times, but it all seems to be good-humoured, so I settle for a wide-eyed \u2018who, me?\u2019 look, which seems to satisfy. \u00a0Alex tells me later on that it was a conversation along the lines of him telling the owner that the only reason he brings me along is that I can carry him home. \u00a0Cheeky sod.<\/span>
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\nTo be fair, he might have had a point. \u00a0A combination of Friday night joy and the wine that we have drunk makes us giddy, and we spend the walk home laughing uncontrollably at various things. \u00a0At one point we pass a zebra crossing, which starts from a wide pavement, and leads straight into a 10-foot high concrete wall. \u00a0We double over with laughter, gasping hysterically at the incongruousness of it all.<\/span>
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\nWhen we get back to the flat, we decide to sample the limoncello, which has been chilling in the freezer. \u00a0It\u2019s good. So good that we have another shot. \u00a0And another. \u00a0By 3 or 4 am the limoncello is down to its dregs. \u00a0We have reached that state of drunkenness where we feel almost sober again, and yet are still discussing deeply philosophical matters. \u00a0We\u2019re both knackered, yet there\u2019s a feeling that neither of us really wants to go to bed just yet. \u00a0It\u2019s a nice state to be in. \u00a0Contentedly, we put the world to rights. \u00a0Light begins to creep through the shutters. \u00a0We watch it happen, not really connecting the dots. \u00a0Suddenly we realise that it\u2019s 7am and the room is bright enough for us not to need the lamps on any more. \u00a0Alex is lying on the sofa looking knackered, but still just about awake. \u2018Non fa male, per un uomo vecchio\u2019, I tease him. \u00a0Torn between being impressed that I\u2019ve managed to string together a correct sentence in Italian and wanting to retaliate for the old man comment, he settles for a rude gesture. \u00a0Laughing, we take ourselves off to our respective beds, trying not to think about the hangover we\u2019re bound to have when we wake up later in the day. \u00a0Ouch.<\/span><\/p>\n

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